


love is not all

by arkadianmouse



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Inspired by Before Sunrise, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arkadianmouse/pseuds/arkadianmouse
Summary: vienna. seoul. los angeles.billy and goodnight meet, and meet again, and again. they fall in love, and fall in love, and fall in love.they find themselves together, and apart, and eventually... home.
Relationships: Goodnight Robicheaux/Billy Rocks
Comments: 22
Kudos: 31





	1. vienna (1995).

**Author's Note:**

> oh, i’m in my feelings about long distance relationships and had to come back to these two to work through them.
> 
> this was inspired by a whirlwind of events and sources, but to name a few: the before trilogy, of which i have watched 1.5 films. various k dramas and their storylines involving couples kept apart. research into compulsory military service and ptsd. my own experience with long distance relationships and travel.
> 
> i may have overlooked some culturally significant pieces here or there, and that was never my intention. please correct me/educate me- i welcome it! feedback is, of course, always appreciated ♡
> 
> title from edna st. vincent millay's love is not all (sonnet xxx)

_isn’t everything we do in life a way to be loved a little more?_

céline, _before sunrise_

* * *

The trip had taken a lot of convincing, but luckily, that was one of Goodnight's strengths. Since graduating college, he had been gearing up to work for his father, trying to match pace with his older brothers. As the youngest, and only being in his mid-twenties, he had some leeway that he was still trying to make the most of. He knew in the next few years, he would have to tighten up his act, take a management position in the company, and settle down into marriage. The mold was there, set by his brothers, and pressing a deep cut into his soul.

Goodnight had set his wit to work, and convinced his father to fork over the money for a plane ticket and two weeks of _time._ Time for Goodnight to escape Baton Rouge, escape his brothers’ well-intentioned wives and their constant pressure to set Goodnight up with women who were their own carbon copies. And, of course, time to escape his father’s waiting gaze, which crept more towards _disappointed_ with each passing day.

He had a flight back tomorrow. He would return to it all tomorrow.

For tonight, he was in Vienna.

He disembarked off the train, felt his heels click against the craggy cobblestone of the station. The air was open and fresh, and he started down random side streets in search of a bar to get a refreshment. He had no plans to stay in one place for too long—a rule he had been following for the last two weeks, since setting off on his European journey.

His last night in Europe would be spent wandering the streets rather than cooped up in a hotel. His flight left at nine the next day, and he had slept on the train ride—he was looking forward to the cool night air and the chance for some sightseeing.

He quickly found himself in a fast-darkening alleyway, the buildings curving around the street on either side of him. Neon lights illuminated a bar that more resembled a speakeasy, and knowing that he would need something to sustain him for the night ahead, Goodnight stepped inside.

The inside of the bar was even darker than the dusk-lined street outside. Goodnight adjusted his eyes to the smoky, dimly-lit room, and made his way to the bar. He ordered in stilted German and settled on a rickety stool.

His lager came quickly, and as he waited for the food to come, he surveyed as much as he could of the dark room. Several older men sat at a table, puffing on cigars and laughing raucously at some inside joke, and some younger men crowded around each other, jostling each other closer to Goodnight. Goodnight shifted a little away from them, and from his new vantage point, he had a clearer view of the far end of the bar.

He was surprised to notice one more figure sitting there—and even clouded in the haze of the bar, Goodnight could make out that he was _different_. The cut of his fashion was different from the preppy look of the youthful men, and different even from Goodnight’s touristy ragged jeans and T-shirt, the only clean clothes he’d had when he’d gotten dressed in Prague yesterday.

The man wore a maroon shirt, and a leather jacket molded tightly to his arms. He had a few silver rings on the hand that curled casually around his drink. His hair was long, falling to the nape of his tan neck, and part of it was tied up loosely. It was a dark, inky black.

The man rolled his neck, and even from afar Goodnight saw the tendons pull against his skin. He brought the drink to his lips, knocked a draft back, throat working tightly. Goodnight’s mouth went dry, and he brought his own lager up, trying to chase away that feeling.

As the man brought his drink down, his gaze focused ahead of him—and landed directly on Goodnight. Goodnight felt himself grow hot, as though caught under a searchlight. He held the man’s gaze, though, and when the stranger realized he wasn’t going to look away, a smile began to bloom across his face.

 _Goodnight_ , he thought to himself. _This is not a man to ignore. This is a man to befriend._

He had just picked up his drink and was preparing to head over, when one of the young men called out loudly in German, directed at the man.

The German spoke loudly but quickly, too quickly for Goodnight to understand, and it was clear the stranger didn’t understand either. It struck Goodnight that he was probably a tourist, a foreigner like he was, and Goodnight wondered if he even spoke English.

“Forgive him,” another man chuckled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “But settle our bet. We want to know where you are from.”

The man leaned back a little and observed the young men who were starting to crowd around him. He didn’t look nervous, or angry, but Goodnight’s sense of justice was nagging at his heart.

He stood to defend the stranger at the same moment he set down his glass and spoke—Korean, if Goodnight was not mistaken. His ear had always picked up languages well, and the Eastern market was so lucrative now his father had pushed him to take classes all through college. Of course, Goodnight was nowhere near fluent, and there was no way he could make out _what_ the man said from across the bar.

Clearly, the group did not understand either. “What did you say?” The English-speaker said, his voice pitched high. Both men looked tense, and the group of older men had quieted and were observing the matter closely.

“Pardon me,” Goodnight said, letting his Southern drawl extend across the room. “I love a good wager, and my ego just won’t let me sit by. Care to guess where I’m from?”

As if embarrassed to be caught in the conflict, or struggling with his English, the German hesitated. “Huh?”

“You were so interested in him, but I’d like to play too. Come on, take a guess?” His drawl was thick and he tried to ooze charm, even though nerves thrummed under his skin.

The group of men looked at each other, and then the loud German pushed through the others and laid down some money on the counter. He said something to the others, probably something derogatory about Goodnight’s manner, and they broke out in laughter. Then, the group pushed past him and headed out of the bar.

Goodnight looked over at the bartender, who had materialized out from the back room to collect the money. Then, his eyes swung over to the stranger, who gave no indication that he had been concerned about the conflict at all. Instead, he was resting an elbow on the bar, resting his head against his knuckles, a soft smile on his face as he stared at Goodnight.

Goodnight cleared his throat and pushed his sandy hair out of his eyes. Trying not to shrink from embarrassment, he gathered his drink and made his way over.

The man didn’t say anything as Goodnight settled nearer to him, but signaled to the bartender to get them both another round, laying down his own currency, as though in anticipation of a quick exit. Goodnight smiled easily as the bartender pushed a refill his way.

“ _Danke_ ,” Goodnight said, as the bartender headed over to the older men, who had resumed their jovial conversation. Goodnight turned to the man beside him and wracked his brain. “ _Gamsahamnida_.”

The man’s dark eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Goodnight immediately put a hand to his forehead.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Goodnight apologized. “Was that insensitive? I thought I heard you speak Korean, and my pronunciation is totally off—oh, god, was I too informal? I think I remember my teacher saying something about that—”

 _Oh god_ , the other man was _laughing_ at him. _Shit_.

“Shit.” He said out loud.

“No, no,” the man’s voice was throaty as he still tried to swallow his laughter. “That was just the last thing I… expected. I do speak Korean, but we can speak English.”

The man’s English was musical, not stilted like Goodnight’s German, and it was worlds better than Goodnight’s Korean.

“Thank God,” Goodnight said. “My name’s Goodnight, and I never learned how to say that in Korean.”

The man’s eyebrows hadn’t yet settled on his face. “Goodnight?”

“Friends call me Goody. It’s… not as long a story as you would expect.”

“Okay. Goodnight. My name is Billy.”

 _Billy_. What a relief to have a name to go with the gorgeous face.

“So?” Interest flickered brightly across Billy’s face. “How is it that you speak Korean?”

“I had to learn in college. Why are you so good at English when you are…” he waved his hand vaguely, trying to convey _in a place that speaks German_ , and Billy smirked. Good. Goodnight loved to entertain.

“I went to school in Los Angeles. I spent some time in Australia. I want to travel before my military service… I plan to enlist next year.”

“Ah… I know a thing or two about taking time for yourself before your duty. I’m doing the same.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“Well, I only just got _here._ I’m heading back tomorrow.”

“Back? Back to where?”

“Louisiana. Or couldn’t you guess.”

Goodnight suddenly realized how close they were. All those boring, blonde faces flickered in his mind—the last women he’d gone on dates with—and he remembered with a hot flush why they had always been so very wrong for him.

He focused, instead, on Billy’s face, mere inches from his.

“And what duty do you have in Louisiana, Goodnight?”

Goodnight pulled back a little.

“My… my father’s business. He’s the one you can thank for the little Korean I know. His business is growing fast, and he needs all of us to chip in and help him run it.”

“Us?”

“Me and my brothers.”

Billy’s face grew warm with understanding. “You are a good son.”

Goodnight scanned Billy’s face for facetiousness, for deception. He found none.

“Billy,” he said. “I have an… admittedly strange idea. I don’t have anywhere to stay in Vienna, I was just planning on walking around the city all night, trying to see what I could see before leaving. I was going to stumble around blindly but… well, if you’d be willing, I would sure be partial to a guide.”

Billy laughed his low, sweet laugh, and Goodnight’s heart hit the floor. “I’m certainly no expert. You’re asking for my company?”

“I sure am.”

Billy studied him, and Goodnight held himself firm under his gaze. Suddenly, Billy stood up, and took Goodnight’s arm.

“Well,” Billy said, his hand tightening warmly around Goodnight’s bare arm. “Let’s see if we can’t make this a good night… Goodnight.”

“Oh, please,” Goodnight laughed, holding the door for Billy. “I already told you my friends call me Goody.”

* * *

The problem was… the problem was, Goodnight was quickly realizing he didn’t want to be just _friends_ with Billy. Goodnight had always known he’d liked men—or rather, he had truly known since college, when he’d fallen for one of his close friends. That, of course, had ended in a small heartbreak.

It was just—he had never met anyone like Billy before, someone he’d felt such an instant connection with. But Goodnight knew it could be dangerous to make a pass at the wrong person, and he didn’t want to lose this just yet.

They started to walk to the center of the city, and in the twilight the curving architecture felt sharply angled.

“You know,” Goodnight said, feeling his tongue flutter to life. He never could stand silence for very long. “This reminds me of an old movie I saw once.”

Billy looked at him with the question on his lips, but didn’t speak it. Goodnight liked it.

“It was called… _The Third Man_? A noir movie, I watched it in college. There was this crazy scene when they went to the top of a Ferris wheel and you thought the one would push the other off.” He cast a look over at Billy, who was still watching him. “I thought they liked each other so much, they might just kiss.”

Goodnight waited with the laugh in his throat, ready to breeze by it as a joke if Billy took offense. But Billy didn’t laugh. He was still looking at Goodnight, with sharp, dark eyes.

“I know that Ferris wheel. I know that movie. It was filmed here—would you like me to show you?”

Goodnight’s heartbeat started to quicken. “Oh! Sure? If it’s not too much trouble.”

A smile curved over Billy’s face, as easy as the curve of the street they walked on. “Oh, I have a feeling you’re worth a little trouble.”

Goodnight continued to chat with Billy as they walked toward their next attraction, and learned that Billy was interested in the up and coming grunge scene in Korea, and had been in Berlin before coming to Vienna, but had found himself a little intimidated by the intensity and the language barrier.

“It’s hard, sometimes, to be a foreigner. It’s hard to navigate a white man’s world.”

Goodnight _hmm_ -ed. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know much about that, though I feel you. I haven’t stayed in one place for very long, and that feeling of being _outside_ of a community starts to get to you. I thought I would like being invisible, and always being somewhere new, but…” Goodnight shivered, although the crisp summer air was not cold. “It just reminded me too much of home.”

He laughed, too sharply. “I guess I like attention too much.”

“No,” Billy said. “You like being seen.”

Goodnight took in Billy’s cautious, kind smile, resting on his golden face, and realized with a sudden, cold rush that he would never see him again after tonight.

“Listen,” he said, stopping in his tracks. Billy took a few steps before turning to face him. “Can we make a promise to each other? From now until morning, let’s be real with each other. Complete honesty.”

Billy laughed, and it lit up the darkness. “Were we not doing that?”

Goodnight’s heart stuttered. “No. I… I have to say that I took notice of you in the bar for a reason. I find you really, heartbreakingly attractive. I understand if that makes you uncomfortable, and if you want to cut this tour short—”

“Would you cut the tour short if I told you I also found you attractive?”

“Oh?” Before Goodnight even registered what Billy had said, he felt himself blushing. Finally, his brain caught up. “Oh. No, no I would not.”

Billy’s smile was wholly too beautiful. “Good. Now let us go and see that Ferris wheel.”

Goodnight couldn’t be surprised when, within a few steps of resuming their walk, Billy took his hand. It was warm—a little too warm—and Goodnight almost laughed when he realized Billy was also a little sweaty. He had thought Billy was too perfect a creature to exist, so it was nice that he had a flaw. God knew Goodnight had plenty.

He watched Billy, unabashedly now, and was surprised to see Billy’s eyes flicker to the sides, trying to take in the street, the surroundings, and more frequently, Goodnight. The second realization hit—Billy was nervous.

“Have you ever dated a man before?” Goodnight asked, and when Billy’s step faltered he waved a hand. “Not that that’s what this is.”

Billy let out a rush of laughter. “Damn it,” he said. “I thought I was being smooth. I got to experiment a little in Los Angeles, but that was a while ago. I haven’t met anyone here and… in Korea, I will admit I feel lost. It is not… done there.”

“Yeah,” Goodnight said, and even though they were keeping their tone light, Goodnight felt the sadness creeping in. “Yeah, I… in college, there was someone, but my family knows nothing. My brothers have perfect wives and perfect lives, and I’m expected to follow their lead. But God, it’s the last thing I want.”

“When I go into military service,” Billy was saying thoughtfully. “I will have to hide that part of myself far away. I understand.”

Goodnight nodded. “Will you make it your career?”

Billy scoffed. “No. I’ve already…” He shifted nervously. “I know violence. I don’t want it to become my life.”

“Then Billy,” Goodnight said. He paused, noticing a bench illuminated in the small, deserted alley they were cutting through. He sat, feeling his edges start to pull tightly inward. “Don’t you see? You have an end in sight. When I go back… when I start with my family, there’s no…”

He shivered and, to his surprise, Billy sat next to him, pulled off his jacket and draped it over his shoulders. Goodnight met his eyes and smiled, touched.

“We never know where our path leads,” Billy said, and he sounded a little too wise for his youthful face. “You can’t decide your fate until it happens.”

Goodnight pulled Billy’s jacket around him. “I guess you’re right,” he said, trying to push the brightness into his voice. He knew from Billy’s expression that the other man knew exactly what he was doing.

“Think of it,” Billy said. “Did you ever see this in your future?”

He rested his hand, palm facing upwards as though he were meditating, on his leg. Goodnight studied it for a moment, and then made a decision. He reached over with his hand, and Billy curled his fingers to meet him. His skin was smooth and dry, now, and Goodnight felt his own nerves settle.

“No,” Goodnight said, going for honesty again. “Never in my wildest dreams.”

* * *

“Here,” Billy said, and he pulled Goodnight where their hands were joined to the ticket line. “Luckily they go until midnight, so we can get a view of the city at night.”

“Okay,” Goodnight said, studying Billy. With his jacket now worn by Goodnight, another layer had been revealed—a faded flannel shirt, unbuttoned, that contrasted almost too wildly with Billy’s darker maroon tee. It was a silly style, grungy and underground, but the more Goodnight learned about Billy the more it seemed to fit. As they joined the queue, Billy let go of Goodnight’s hand and shed even this layer, tying the flannel around his waist and turning to Goodnight with a smile. His arms pulled tightly at the sleeves of his tee, muscles flexing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

 _What a view_ , Goodnight thought bitterly, feeling his head spin. _Just one night._

The queue went fast, and soon they were in a spacious box on the Ferris wheel, ascending into the pitch dark sky. There was enough space to walk around, and Goodnight paced the perimeter, taking in the view.

“Incredible,” he said. The box was not lit from within, but the lights from the fairgrounds still illuminated them. He was able to see Billy, settled near the door.

Billy had an arm draped lazily around the doorframe, which was open on either side to accommodate the windows. He had a nice smug look on his face as he watched Goodnight saunter back to him.

“Like what you see?” Billy chuckled.

Goodnight reached him and slung his arm around the other side of the doorframe, clutching it as the Ferris wheel brought them to the top. A soothing breeze ruffled his hair, and he hesitated to move his hand to push it out of the way. Suddenly, Billy was nearer to him, and his hand gently brushed Goodnight’s hair from his forehead before settling on his shoulder.

“You must know I do,” Goodnight spoke quietly. The night air was crisp, and Goodnight felt his breath mingle with Billy’s in the space between them. “This is…”

He shifted closer, waiting for Billy to move away. He did not.

“This is quite romantic, Billy, I have got to say.”

“Well,” Goodnight wasn’t sure if it was the breeze or Billy’s soft laughter which tousled his hair so. “You were the one with the idea.”

“Yeah,” Goodnight said. “I’ve been known to have those. You should just see me—sometimes I even have good ones.”

“Oh, Goody,” Billy said, and his breath ghosted warmly across Goodnight’s lips. “I see you.”

The next moment, Billy’s lips met Goodnight’s. His mouth pressed sweetly, and Goodnight held them there, afraid to push. Billy pulled back, the question written in the dark of his eyes, and Goodnight answered by meeting Billy this time. His tongue darted out and found Billy’s mouth already open and waiting, and so he pushed deeper. They grew breathless in moments, almost desperate, and pulled away from each other only when it became absolutely necessary.

“Jesus,” Goodnight said, laughing at himself. “Sorry,” he continued. “It’s been a while.”

Billy placed a hand on Goodnight’s cheek and smiled kindly. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “It was nice.”

Goodnight leaned forward and pressed his face to Billy’s neck, willing his breath to even out.

 _One night_. He thought. _One night. One night._

He was quickly realizing it would not be enough.

“Where…” Goodnight pulled back and cleared his throat as their box began to descend back to the ground. “Where should we go next? I have a train to the airport at seven tomorrow…”

“That is in eight hours…”

“Eight? Jesus—”

“Let’s not think of it like that,” Billy said, and his arms found their way back to Goodnight, embracing him once more before their box touched the ground and they had to depart. Goodnight took his hand when it was offered, and they began to walk through the colorful lights and sporadic din of the fair.

“Think of it this way,” Billy continued. “When you return home, and return to your job—wouldn’t it be nice to go back with a memory? One nice memory to unfold and view and bring you pleasure?”

Goodnight thought of his whirlwind trip through Europe. He had enjoyed his journeying, but so much of it was already fading with time, blurry and browning around the edges.

“I could be that memory,” Billy said with a sly grin, and Goodnight knew he would never fade away. “I know I’ll remember this when I’m bored on duty. I’ll remember… you.”

Goodnight squeezed his hand back and pulled Billy closer. “I’d like to be that for you. Alright then. Let’s do this.”

Billy looked around, as though he were trying to be casual, before meeting Goodnight’s eye with a grin and leaning in for a kiss. Goodnight met him warmly, bringing his hand to rest on Billy’s shadowed cheek. As the fairground racket faded with the press of Billy’s lips, Goodnight knew he would enjoy coming back to this moment.

* * *

“What do you want to do after the army?” Goodnight asked, feeling Billy’s hand tense in his. The other man was silent for a moment.

“What would you do if you didn’t work for your family?”

Goodnight chuckled. “Alright, I see I was being unfair. Another question, then…”

They were walking along one of the city’s waterways, an offshoot of the Danube, and it was late enough now that the people they saw were few and far between. They had already been talking for hours, wandering the streets and talking of the present—not the past, not the future. Their interests in the moment. A sight that was beautiful and resonated within their soul. What they liked most about the other.

But Goodnight couldn’t help but want to know more about Billy, especially as he could feel their hours together slip by into mere minutes. He needed more memories to construct something large enough to sustain him when he went back to his soulless job. A small part of him knew that, without this beautiful, living person by his side, the memories would never be enough.

“Okay,” Billy’s thoughtful voice brought him back. “Another question, then.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Billy’s pace stuttered to a stop, and for one moment Goodnight thought he had upset him. But then, Billy burst out into raucous laughter, the echoes bouncing off the tall buildings that lined the little, deserted canal.

“What _are_ you trying to say?” Billy said, and Goodnight bristled.

“Well, what are you trying to say? Laughing at me like that…”

“Oh, Goody,” Billy said, crowding Goodnight into an enclave in one of the buildings. Goodnight felt his back hit the smooth stone. “I didn’t mean anything, it just surprised me. You are always doing that.”

“I can tell you what I think,” Goodnight said, his voice quieter than it had been. “If that makes the question any fairer.”

“It wasn’t unfair,” Billy said, and his voice was quieter too. “Goody. It wasn’t unfair.”

“I didn’t used to,” Goodnight said. “That’s my answer. I didn’t used to believe in it. My love life… my _life_ has been fairly soulless until now. Not magical at all.”

Billy’s eyes were brilliant in the light of the streetlamps, bouncing off of each other and the water in the canal below. “Do you think I’m magical?”

“Billy, I think you’ve been sent to destroy any chance I ever had of being happy.”

Billy stepped back, looking upset.

“No, no…” Goodnight ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “God… how am I supposed to go back to my life now? After this? I’m sorry for pushing you the way I did, but… if I’m not the only one feeling this, you could let me know. Anything to make it easier to go back.”

The other man—a stranger to him not hours ago—watched him carefully. Goodnight felt like an exposed nerve, buzzing with anticipation.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Billy said, after a long silence. Goodnight’s laugh was rueful, although he didn’t mean it to be. Before he could step away, Billy was there before him again, and Goodnight sucked in a breath as Billy’s arms came around him.

“I feel it too,” Billy’s voice was soft, as his face buried into Goodnight’s neck. “I’m sorry I can’t end this. I feel it too.”

Goodnight’s arms shook as he held Billy back.

Goodnight wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but soon the air around them started to get warmer, and Goodnight realized with a flush of panic that the sun was beginning to rise. He pulled back from Billy and captured his mouth in a kiss, crushing and quick.

“I have to… my train.”

The train would take him to the airport. The plane would take him home.

 _I want to ask him to come with me,_ Goodnight thought, and then: _No. I want to ask to go with him._

Billy looked as if he knew already.

The walk to the _S-Bahn_ was not as long as they wanted it to be. Not even half a day ago, Goodnight had arrived in Vienna at a similar station, totally unaware his life would change forever.

Billy had been able to follow him out to the platform, and in contrast to their conversations earlier in the night, they had been walking in near silence. Now, they faced each other, as Goodnight shrugged off Billy's jacket and handed it back with a solemn thank you. 

“How long…” He started, before hesitating. 

Goodnight could not finish his thought. When he returned to the States, he would begin his father’s training program, under his brothers’ watchful eyes. He wouldn’t have time to leave for a couple of years, and even after that he would have to make headway into the company.

After that, though… travel would be an option. He could see Billy again.

Billy, always clever, seemed to guess exactly what Goodnight was thinking.

“Two years,” he said. “It may take me three. But then… I’ll be in Seoul.”

He looked away, as though embarrassed. “I wouldn’t ask you to try to find me. But that’s where I’ll be.”

“I would,” Goodnight said, taking his hand for what he hoped would not be the last time. “I would always find you. I will.”

“Promises,” Billy shook his head with a laugh. Goodnight squeezed his hand and Billy leaned forward, but not close enough. The crowd bustled around them and Goodnight wondered if it would matter, if anyone saw.

“No,” he said, smiling around a sigh. “I’m just being honest.”

“You’re good at that,” Billy said. Goodnight stepped away, and stepped onto the train. Around them, whistles sounded.

“Billy,” he called over the clatter. Billy still watched him from the platform. “I just thought of something.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t find you very well without a last name.”

Billy blinked, and blinked again, and then his face broke out into a wild grin. He looked like he was biting back a laugh as he called out, “Billy Rocks!”

“Rocks?” Goodnight’s cheeks burned around his smile.

“Is it any worse than Goody?” Billy looked quizzical. “Goodnight?”

“Goodnight Robicheaux.”

“Oh come on,” Billy said, and Goodnight tried not to let the panic show on his face as he realized the train was moving… moving away from Billy.

“I’ll come back to you, Billy Rocks,” he called, and he willed the grin to stay on his face just a little longer.

“I’m counting on it, Goodnight Robicheaux!”

Goodnight watched Billy until he could no longer see him. When finally he turned from the window, he set his sights on his future, knowing Billy was already waiting for him there. 


	2. seoul (2002).

Goodnight felt his knees creak as he disembarked from the plane. He was not so old—in his early thirties—but a nearly twenty hour flight would have anyone a little hunched over and achy.

Now that the plane had landed, and Goodnight was stepping out on Korean soil, his heart began to beat a little quicker, too. His nerves were dancing under his skin, jumpy and eager.

He had spent those hours on the plane thinking of Billy Rocks. Reading his articles. Reminiscing of their time together.

They had not spoken in seven years.

Goodnight was in a place he had never expected to be. His father had passed away last year, leaving the company to his oldest brother, John. In the shock of it all, America had faced a great challenge—and Goodnight had made a decision.

He was on leave now, and rather than go back home to his brothers’ incessant bickering, only united when they turned their eyes to Goodnight to pick at his flaws… rather than return to that, he had boarded a flight to Seoul.

He hadn’t meant for seven years to pass; they had just gone too quickly. In fact, right before his father’s death, he’d been given a promotion within the company that would have him working directly with the Eastern market. But then—heart attack, John’s takeover, and Goodnight had been shuttled off to a corner office where he wouldn’t interfere too much. And Goodnight, overwhelmed and frustrated and a little heartbroken, despite everything, had tortured himself with news coverage until he found himself signing enlistment papers.

Five days. His R & R was five days, and so much of it had already been used on just getting to Korea.

And he didn’t even know if Billy would give him the time of day. 

At least he knew where Billy was. Billy Rocks had made a name for himself as a journalist, particularly known for his coverage of the Korean military. It seemed that his own military service had left quite an impression on him, and although he hadn’t made a career out of it, it had colored the career he’d chosen for himself.

Goodnight knew that Billy traveled often for his work, covering other aspects of the military or Korean expat culture around the world.

There was a chance he wasn’t even in Seoul. But Goodnight had bought the tickets anyway, willing to take that chance.

Goodnight now found himself at the address he had discovered through careful research, the office which was the base of operations for Billy’s magazine. And as he stood on the curb and looked up at the tall building, wondering which floor Billy worked on, the panic overtook him.

“Oh, God,” he said. “I really am crazy.”

He beat a tactical retreat into a bookstore across the way, willing his thoughts to still.

During these seven years, he had been in love with Billy. His feelings had never faded, though he wouldn’t blame Billy if his had.

Sometimes, it seemed like that night in Vienna had all been a dream. Billy had been right—the memory was nice to unfold and look at, when Goodnight had been shoved aside into a lonely desk job or a crowded desert Humvee. It had been nice to remember Billy. Billy, with his kind eyes and strong grasp, the breathless kisses they had shared—

“Goodnight?”

 _Yes,_ Goodnight said, taking in the man in front of him, with broad shoulders and dark eyes, hair pulled neatly away from his face and still, still so beautiful. _It hadn’t been a dream_.

* * *

Billy really couldn’t believe it, but Goodnight looked exactly the same, and there was no mistaking him.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit (to himself) that he had often imagined this moment. Sometimes, he found himself turning corners half expecting Goodnight to be there, dusky blonde hair falling across soulful eyes. In the next moment, he would be deeply embarrassed and brush off any sense of lingering affection.

Alright, so he was a little ashamed. Mostly ashamed of the fact that he had never fallen out of love.

It had been one night, and it had been a lifetime ago—Billy had gone through his military service and found a career in writing that he was passionate about. He had traveled to other lands and still come home, to Seoul, where he had carved out a life for himself.

He hadn’t been _waiting_ for Goodnight.

But as Goodnight turned, looking slightly red and ruffled—a little shorter than Billy’s memory served, but more muscular, more tan, and still more gorgeous—Billy realized that he had, all this time, been waiting for Goodnight.

Of course he had.

“Billy,” Goodnight said, and he was breathless, and Billy could suddenly remember the taste of his lips against his. “It’s been…”

“Seven years,” Billy said in a rush. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Goodnight looked as though he had been shocked with water, and his breathing was still shallow. Billy moved closer to him. The bookstore was a place he often stopped into just after lunch, while the others made their way back to the offices. It was quiet, and reflective. There were no eyes on them now.

“Goody,” he said softly, and Goodnight’s face crumpled inward.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was low and soft, but Billy, who had become better trained in English over the years, could still make the words out. “I couldn’t find you until now.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Billy said, desperately needing Goodnight to feel less guilty. After all, he was at fault too. “Three years ago… I was in Baton Rouge. I could have… I just didn’t think you’d want to see… me. If you hadn’t found me by then.”

“Every day.” Goodnight’s hand was at his arm, and he squeezed Billy gently. “I’ve wanted to see you every day.”

“Then I’m—”

“No,” Goodnight said, shaking his head, his expression softening. “You’re right. No more apologies. Let’s…” He looked around, as though he was just discovering their surroundings. “We have all day.”

“All day?” Billy said, smiling.

“Three days.” Goodnight said, and he was smiling but his tone was solemn. Billy realized why the next moment.

“Three days… oh. And then you are leaving?”

“I have to go back to… I joined the military, Billy,” Goodnight’s grin was gentle. “You’ll be proud of me. I’m quite the man now.”

“You always were,” Billy said, chuckling, but he felt the laugh catch awkwardly in his throat. He had never imagined Goodnight in the military. It had been something required of him, something he had to manage and get through—and Billy was well-versed on the American military, as he had written comparison pieces before. He knew they were not always kind to someone like Goodnight. _War_ was not kind to someone like Goodnight.

“Alright then,” Billy continued, realizing that they had fallen quiet. “I’ll show you around.”

"My hero," Goodnight's cheerful laugh filled the quiet of the store, just before they started to move for the doors. 

As he tucked his hand into his jacket pocket, avoiding Goodnight's curious eyes, Billy really didn't think he was. 

* * *

Goodnight hadn’t eaten since he’d had dinner on the plane the night before, but he wasn’t about to interrupt his reunion with Billy to share that—until his stomach made an impatient noise a couple of hours after they had left the bookstore.

Goodnight had asked Billy if he needed to go back to work, and Billy had ignored him. They were chatting lightly with each other, as they had when they’d first met, but Goodnight knew it was only a matter of time before one of them curled a hand around the other’s, until their eyes met one too many times and they finally embraced. His skin was aching for it.

And then—

Billy laughed at the offending noise from Goodnight, his tone bright and musical. “Hungry?”

Goodnight had the good sense not to be too embarrassed, as he’d found that it only made Billy tease him more. “I could—yeah, I could eat.”

“Okay,” Billy said. “I know a place.”

The "place" was further from the busy city center where Billy’s office building was. Billy pulled Goodnight toward the subway, and they boarded a train headed for the Yongsan district. The train was not as crowded as Goodnight would have suspected, and as they sat together, Goodnight rested a hand on his knee, daring Billy to take it.

Billy did not, though he watched Goodnight carefully.

“So,” Goodnight started, chasing a feeling. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Goodnight could see the corners of Billy’s mouth pull up, though Billy did not look happy about it.

“Goody,” he said, his voice stern. He sat back a little in the seat, relaxing, and then brought his hand to rest on Goodnight’s. It was smooth and cool, and Goodnight squeezed it happily.

“I’m not,” Billy answered. “I—”

“You have, though.”

“Of course…” Billy looked hesitant. “Haven’t you?”

Goodnight shrugged. “Not really.”

Billy’s hand jumped in his, and Goodnight brought his other hand around to cover it.

“Life has not been… great.”

Billy’s eyes were dark. “Your father—”

“There was that. He’s dead now—no, don’t be sorry, you _really_ don’t have to. I’d worked for a while to impress my family, and if I were to date a man… that would _not_ do it. It’s a little better, now. There are even some guys I know in my unit who are okay with it.”

Billy was watching him, and Goodnight smiled. “It’s better now,” he continued, and finally Billy’s face relaxed.

“You don’t hate me, do you?” Billy said, a flush on his face. “Only—they never worked out. Nothing could ever compare to that one night with you.”

“Jesus, flatterer,” Goodnight said, knowing his face was red as well. “We didn’t even have—” He looked away.

He knew too well what they felt—what they had both felt on that night. It had run deep enough to last for seven years. It would run through them forever, binding their fates together tightly.

“Goodnight,” Billy’s voice was soft, and when Goodnight looked at him Billy pressed forward to kiss him. It was short and sweet, Billy’s mouth cool against his for only a moment before he pulled away.

“Sorry,” Billy was saying. “We can—”

“Later,” Goodnight agreed, and his heart beat a little more quickly.

When they finally arrived at the restaurant, a place Billy described as a _gogi jib_ , Goodnight was presented with a meal that surpassed every expectation. Goodnight saw Billy watch him fondly as he waited for the meat simmering on the stove in front of them to finish cooking.

“I’ve never smelled anything this good,” Goodnight moaned, his mouth watering. Billy rewarded Goodnight for his patience by plucking a cut of _galbi_ off the grill and placing it on Goodnight’s plate. It had hardly been there a moment before Goodnight snatched it up with his chopsticks and bit into it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Goodnight said, and Billy laughed when someone’s plate clattered from behind Goodnight. “I’ve been eating MRE’s for months now, and I don’t think I can _ever_ go back.”

Goodnight saw Billy stiffen, but he was also distracted by the heavenly, rich flavor of the beef being piled onto his plate.

“How long is your tour?” Billy asked after a moment of silence had passed between them.

“I’m six months through, and have six to go. I think I’ll go back, though,” Goodnight said around a mouthful. “I really like the guys I’m with, and… I think I’m good at it, Billy. I like being with them… it’s like a family I never expected to get. And there are people over there that I really want to help, not just my men, but…”

He trailed off when he saw Billy’s frown.

“I mean, you were in the military. You get it, right?”

“Not really,” Billy said. “Or haven’t you read my articles? I mean, you knew to find me at my work…”

“Yeah, but you must recognize why the military is important. I get that bad experiences happen everywhere, but a lot of men are fighting for people in countries like the one I'm in to have a _choice_ in what happens to them. Choice matters, right?”

Billy’s face was shadowed, and Goodnight wasn’t sure if it was just the dim light of the restaurant, or the topic of their conversation.

“I mean… you did want to join up, didn’t you Billy?”

“Not really,” Billy said, and his chopsticks clicked loudly as he put them down against his plate.

“Oh. I thought— I mean, you always talk about it as a duty…”

“Just because it was my duty didn’t make it right. Some things are not right. _Violence_ —”

“It’s not violent to protect others from violence.”

“Goodnight—”

“Is that what you think of me?” Goodnight said, and his throat was so tight he wasn’t sure how he was even speaking. “I thought you’d understand, even though you haven’t seen what I’ve— I just wanted to do something right for _once in my life_ —”

Goodnight was breathless, and he knew he had been speaking so low and so bitterly that he wasn’t sure if Billy had even heard him. The sizzle of meat on the stove filled the empty space between them.

“I’ve seen war,” Billy spoke harshly, and it startled Goodnight. “I’ve seen what it can do. I’ve lost—”

His voice broke, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. Goodnight had never seen this emotion on Billy, and a stab of panic seized his heart—panic, and guilt, that _he_ had caused this.

“My nation has been at war my whole life,” Billy continued. “It may seem bloodless, but I’ve—I’ve seen violence. I’ve seen injustice. I never wanted that for anyone else. I’d put an end to it all if I could.”

Goodnight said what was in his heart. “It’s my home, Billy.”

He wanted to close the distance between them. They had been apart for so long, and were still apart, and would be apart again. And it was always Goodnight’s fault.

“I know,” Billy said, after a long while. “It was mine too.”

Goodnight nodded solemnly, and he knew that, despite their differences, Billy had understood him. Billy would always understand him.

“Let’s eat,” Billy said. “I know where we should go next."

* * *

The noise of the Itaewon club beat out a harsh rhythm against the cool of the night. Billy had been there before, and knew the type of clientele that queued up, looking for a good time. He saw the exact moment Goodnight realized it too, seeing the men and women in their colorful, fashionable outfits, holding hands and laughing kindly at their partners. When two men embraced each other passionately at the front of the line, Goodnight looked at Billy with a look of such joyful surprise that it made his heart relax, just a little.

“What,” he said, slyly. “Is there a problem?”

“Billy…” Goodnight started, but then he shook his head. Billy thought he was just carefully avoiding another argument, but then Goodnight’s eyes brightened. “It’s perfect.”

The club was packed, even though the night had just begun.

Goodnight and Billy started with drinks, and they each knocked back two in quick succession, glancing at the other with a competition burning behind their actions. He stared at Goodnight’s face, a stream of _blueredyellowgreen_ lights painting it wildly, and remembered how beautiful he was, and how in love with him he was. It wasn’t fair. Billy didn’t want to be mad at Goodnight, but he didn’t know how to continue their conversation and fix things.

And now, with the music pounding loudly in their ears, Billy didn’t know if they could even _have_ a conversation. His heart stuttered as Goodnight leaned in, his mouth shaped around a question that Billy could almost taste: “ _Wanna dance_?”

Billy was still sad, and still angry, and mostly ashamed that all he wanted right now was to feel Goodnight’s body against his own. He hated dancing, usually, but Goodnight was _good_ at it, of course, and his arms pulled Billy carefully against him, closer and closer. It wasn’t long before Billy realized the effect that this was having on him, and saw it mirrored in Goodnight. _Felt_ it when Goodnight, ever daring, cupped his hand around the nape of Billy’s neck and kissed him.

When Billy felt the cool air against his lips again, knowing Goodnight had pulled away, if only just to breathe, he could have cried.

“Come home with me,” he whispered, feeling the bristles of Goodnight’s shadow prick his lips. Goodnight inhaled sharply, exhaled, “ _Yes_.”

Of course, Billy didn’t live anywhere near Itaewon, and they spent the train ride back to Billy’s neighborhood in hot, uncomfortable silence, shoulders pressed against each other, side by side. When the train finally arrived at Billy’s stop, they both stood, a little too eagerly, and met each other’s eyes in surprise.

“We are _ridiculous_ ,” Goodnight sighed in exasperation, and there was a beautiful twang to his voice that Billy wanted to devour.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

When the door to Billy’s flat closed behind them, though, and Goodnight surged forward to meet him, Billy didn’t feel ridiculous. He felt very, very in love.

“God,” Billy gasped, feeling Goodnight’s teeth at the crest of his neck. “Don’t do that,” he hissed, but he pulled Goodnight closer.

“Want to,” Goodnight said, his tongue pressing against Billy’s tender skin. “Wanted to since I first saw you. _Beautiful_.”

“You don’t mean that,” Billy said, though he could hardly get the words out with Goodnight curving his lips around his Adam’s apple.

“I do,” Goodnight said, and Billy let his eyes slip closed for a brief moment. “I really do.”

“Well,” Billy said, running a hand up below Goodnight’s shirt and feeling him jump and shiver. “Let’s continue, then.”

He pushed, then, and Goodnight’s mouth came away with a too-loud wet sound, and Billy was glad that his apartment was still very dark, so that Goodnight could not see how flushed he had become. He grabbed for Goodnight’s arm and pulled him toward the bed. 

They hadn’t done this, back then. But Billy had thought of it, had thought of _what might have been_ , many nights since.

This was _so_ much better.

“Billy,” Goodnight’s voice was rough with emotion, as Billy held himself over him. “Want to feel you.”

“We can do that,” Billy wanted to tease this man, always. He was so serious in his job, in his life, with his friends. People always thought him incapable of teasing or taking a joke. But Goodnight knew otherwise, and Billy knew this because he laughed lightly at Billy, even now.

“Yes,” Goodnight said, and their lips met as Billy’s hand pushed past the waistband of Goodnight’s pants. “I want you. Wanted you that night, and always after.”

“Me too,” Billy said, pulling his shirt over his head as Goodnight struggled to do the same. He pushed his pants down and kicked them away, and saw Goodnight’s flush deepen as he pulled at Goodnight’s pants.

“Jesus,” Goodnight said, his drawl thicker in this act. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Billy laughed and sat back on his heels, staring at Goodnight. “I think you are, too.”

The flush was creeping along Goodnight’s pale, bare chest, and Billy saw him lift his arms to throw them over his face. “Don’t do that,” he said, knocking them away. “I want to see you.”

“Fuck,” Goodnight said, and Billy laughed until Goodnight joined him. When he fit their bodies together they molded perfectly, and he moved to feel Goodnight swell and pulse against him. He wanted it to last forever, but they had both been dizzy with lust for a long time now, since they had pressed against each other on the dance floor, and it was not long before Goodnight’s nails dug into Billy’s shoulders and they came, together.

It took Billy a moment to collect himself, but when he did, he cleaned them both with a soft towel from his bathroom. Goodnight was still flushed, and a little sweaty, though Billy knew he was too. Goodnight blinked owlishly as Billy settled in next to him for the night.

“I really can’t believe I’ve got you,” Goodnight said, and Billy suddenly remembered that it was only _for now_.

“You’ve got me,” he said, and he kissed Goodnight deeply, feeling his tongue curl against Billy's own. When they broke apart, Billy tucked his head against the curve of Goodnight’s shoulder, and felt his chest rise and fall with each deep, careful breath.

“I felt everything that night,” Billy said, suddenly. “I haven’t felt the same since.”

Goodnight was quiet, and Billy thought he had fallen asleep. He was almost relieved that Goodnight hadn’t heard his confession, and then Goodnight’s voice rang out in the darkness.

“I don’t want you to wait for me.”

“Goodnight.” Billy’s heart felt too tight, too full of all his love for Goodnight. “I can’t make any promises.”

“One,” Goodnight said, and his hand found Billy’s hair, stroking it softly. “Just one. Don’t wait for me.”

“No promises,” Billy said, his voice growing firmer. He sat up to find Goodnight’s searching eyes. Goodnight pushed his head back into the pillow with a noise of frustration.

“I’m not worth it, Billy.” Goodnight’s eyes were dark. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“Oh, don’t do that…”

“And I’m scared you might not like me when I come back.”

“I’ll always like you.”

Goodnight looked hesitant, and Billy suddenly understood there was a hidden layer to this conversation.

“Oh,” Billy's voice was quiet. “You think you won’t like me?”

“Never,” Goodnight said. “ _Never_. But Billy… what if I don’t come back at all?”

 _Fuck that_ , Billy thought. “You will. You’re good at that.”

“Billy—”

“A promise, then,” Billy said. “I promise I won’t wait for you. You promise you’ll come back to me.”

The look on Goodnight’s face was hilarious, and so Billy burst out into laughter. “What? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Billy Rocks,” Goodnight joined him in his laughter, the sound of them together filling the night so sweetly. “You’re just terrible.”

“You love it.”

“I do. I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone tell me that i am not allowed to write a generation kill au where billy is a journalist embedded with goodnight’s unit.


	3. los angeles (2009).

Billy’s shoulder knocked against the door as his cab driver took a sharp turn. He set his mouth and met the driver’s apologetic eyes in the rear view mirror.

 _Almost there_ , Billy clicked the buttons in rapid succession to spell out his message, before snapping the phone shut.

He wasn’t expecting a message in return… Goodnight hated texting, either feeling that his charm didn’t translate that well on the small screen, or because of the tremor in his hand that made it tiresome for him to type out the letters.

The driver pulled up to the curb just as suddenly as he'd turned, and Billy pitched forward a little in his seat. _Honestly_ , he thought, but he knew his heart wasn’t beating so quickly because of a rough ride. He paid the driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Goodnight was waiting for him at the door.

“Hey,” he said, and Billy’s heart had never felt so far from his body, even when Goodnight had been on the other side of the world.

“Hey, yourself,” he said. “Did you see my text, then?”

He sidled up to Goodnight, who took his bags and set them near the sign-in station. Billy was keenly aware of Goodnight’s hand brushing along his shoulder, and glanced behind Goodnight at the sliding glass doors that led further into the clinic.

“They’re excited to meet you,” Goodnight was saying. His hand moved from Billy’s shoulder to the nape of his neck, and in the next moment he had pulled Billy in for a bruising kiss.

Billy met Goodnight with a happy moan, Goodnight’s tongue slipping past his lips to curl at his teeth. Goodnight tasted like evergreen, a saturated mint that made Billy wonder what he was hiding.

“I missed you,” Goodnight said, and Billy catalogued the happy pink flush that lit up his skin, dark as it was from the California sun.

“I missed you, too,” Billy said. “I’m glad they let me come, that it wasn’t too much of a conflict of interest.”

He thought he saw Goodnight’s happy expression flicker. “Do they have that in journalism?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

Billy had an ulterior motive for seeing Goodnight, this time. Goodnight had made great strides to open a reputable PTSD clinic in Los Angeles, where he had settled after some restless years. Billy had already phoned several of the nurses he’d hired, and some of the counselors, excitedly gathering data on Goodnight’s venture. He knew it would make a great story, and when he had brought it to his editors, so had they.

For a number of reasons, Billy hadn’t been able to speak to any of Goodnight’s patients. When Goodnight had found out about the story, he’d flushed a deep red and protested it vehemently, but when Billy had spoken of how proud he was of him, and how much it might help others if he shared this story, Goodnight had stilled and accepted. That acceptance had turned to joy when Billy had asked if he could fly out to L.A. to interview some of the patients, and Goodnight as well.

It was easy to be introduced to the patients, and the staff, and to sit in on one of their meetings. Goodnight had asked him not to take notes at first, in order to demonstrate how his intentions really were to _listen_.

It sometimes surprised Billy, that he could continue to find new reasons to love Goodnight.

When a few hours had passed, and they were ready to close operations for the day, Goodnight caught Billy’s hand in his own and brought him back through the doors, to the front.

Goodnight quickly flagged down a man there, handsome and around their age, and passed him a handful of folders, without ever letting go of Billy’s hand. It was slight and still in Billy’s grasp, and Billy was glad he hadn’t let go.

“Thanks, Sam,” Goodnight said around a smile. Billy didn’t let himself get jealous, but still felt a tug in his heart. He loved when Goodnight smiled at him like that.

They weren’t dating, exactly. They had never been that clear with their relationship—it had always just been _love, love, love_ , and then letting themselves drift apart. Billy didn’t feel they needed a definition to help them get through life. He could always manage well enough on his own—they both liked their independence, as much as they liked one another.

The distance had, though, started to worm its way from the back of his mind to the front, a nasty piece of business that filled him with dread and worry and loneliness. He wanted to be by Goodnight’s side, just as much as he wanted to continue writing and working in the country he called home.

Goodnight had found home, too— he had _come home_ , found a bright place to chase away dark shadows and memories, and Billy would never take it from him.

He remembered a time, when Goodnight had reached for him across a table, and said, _It’s my home_. Goodnight, excited about having a family for the first time, and not yet knowing the price he would have to pay for it.

But Billy had known, even in that happy moment. It had made him so sad, and so angry. But when Goodnight had returned, a bruised and battered soul, but very much _alive_ , Billy didn’t even think, for one moment, _I told you so_.

“What are you looking so glum for?” Goodnight turned to him brightly, but the corners of his smile did not reach as far as they used to. Billy noticed this, always.

“Nothing,” he said, and he was pleased when Goodnight squeezed his hand and placed a kiss on his waiting mouth.

“Good,” Goodnight whispered, whiskers making Billy itch. “We have some celebratin’ to do.”

* * *

That first night, so long ago, Billy had been able to taste the sweetness of light lager in Goodnight’s kiss.

This did not remind him of that, though. The air in this bar was heady and damp, and the beers Goodnight ordered were pungent and dark. Billy wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or disappointed that Goodnight hadn’t ordered something stronger.

Billy didn’t know when things had become like this, between them. There was not a fleck of doubt in his mind that he did not love Goodnight. He didn’t think that Goodnight had stopped loving him, either.

But they were silent for longer, now, as though they were used to starting and stopping their conversations with nice pleasantries sent through text or e-mail, or with the buzz of static between them.

With nothing but open air separating them, the experience was a little suffocating.

Billy waited, listening to Goodnight chat easily—did he not feel it, then?—and wondered if he should speak up.

“When was the last time we saw each other, then?” Goodnight’s mouth rested against the lip of the pint. It was his fourth—Billy had tried a long time ago to stop keeping count, but he was always hyper-aware of when Goodnight had too many.

“You visited me down in Texas,” despite the weight in his chest, Billy laughed. “About a year ago. When I was doing that piece on—”

“Right, right,” Goodnight nudged Billy with his arm. “That wild fellow at the border.”

Military journalism made Billy feel too raw, and made him think of Goodnight, so he didn’t do it often. He contented himself with his other passion—travel journalism— and in particular writing about the parts of the world that were not sought after by ordinary tourists. Issues that arose in the dark places. Injustice.

The man Billy had met in Texas did work protecting immigrants at the border, a private and expensive crusade. Despite his eccentric manner, he talked clearly of the violence he had seen, and though it made Billy’s heart ache, he was also glad to see that the man had found a place to do good work, with someone that he loved by his side.

There, Billy saw healing, and all the possibilities that came with it. He watched Goodnight gulp back the last of his drink and willed the sigh not to escape from his lips.

“He was a good man,” Billy said, and he saw Goodnight’s eye twitch as he signaled for the bartender to bring another one. “Goodnight,” he started, and Goodnight’s hand found his under the bar. It didn’t shake, and Billy knew he was placing it there to prove something to Billy.

“My company paid for a hotel,” Billy said. “I was going to go back there.”

“Right,” Goodnight said, and Billy wasn’t sure if he was imagining the tight rasp, or if he was only picturing because of how rough his own throat felt, the guilt and disappointment like twin claws digging in.

“I’ll be here for a while. We can talk about your work tomorrow, and then we can talk about…”

Billy trailed off.

“When do you go home?” Goodnight asked, finally, and Billy hesitated.

“In two weeks.”

Goodnight laughed, and it was bitter, and Billy pretended he didn’t hear it.

Billy paid for his one drink and Goodnight’s many, and walked to the hotel his company had paid for, fighting the urge to run back. Was this what it had been like for Goodnight, who had left him so many times?

Billy never had suspected that the easy job was in getting left behind.

* * *

The first week passed quickly, as Billy got to know the others at the clinic. They each had a story that pulled at Billy’s heart with a familiarity, and yet their differences were so stark. There was one similarity between the patients, however—they all spoke of Goodnight with a tone that was open and fond, and their eyes grew clearer when they talked of what he meant to them.

Billy felt a great kinship with all of them.

He was glad to see that progress bloomed in every corner of this place, and for Goodnight, too, who laughed with patients and staff alike, and whose eyes found Billy whenever he had a chance.

He always worried, even across the world, even while Goodnight slept as he worked, and even as he slept while Goodnight worked. But it was clear now that Goodnight had found his people, and Billy was glad for it. 

He typed his notes on the laptop, and with each keystroke he felt so _proud_ of all that had been accomplished here. But he had always known he would feel this way—would be proud of Goodnight, and so in love, wherever Goodnight was in life.

Eventually, Billy’s outline is complete, and all that remains between him and a finished draft is a long plane ride back to Seoul.

Goodnight, who always looks for Billy, who always looks _at_ Billy, does not meet his eyes while Billy says goodbye to those at the clinic.

What Goodnight does not know, not _yet_ , is that Billy has already decided to stay.

He needs to stay at Goodnight’s side, because he is doing good and important work. He needs to stay at Goodnight’s side, because he thinks there is a job here for him, too—a coordinator of some sort, someone to write press and bring in money. They could open more locations. They could go global, Billy thinks in broad strokes, remembering the men and women in Korea he had often spoken to about their service.

He _wants_ to stay at Goodnight’s side, because he loves this man, and never wants to be apart from him again.

And as Goodnight locks the clinic’s door behind them, and they step out into the sidewalk, Billy opens his mouth to say all of this.

“You leave tomorrow,” Goodnight says first, and Billy sees a muscle in his jaw clenched tight.

“I do. But Goodnight—”

“Would you go home with me tonight?”

The streetlights begin to flicker on, as the sun sank below the building-lined horizon. Billy saw Goodnight’s face illuminated, and his face looked more worn and his hair more gray than Billy had ever seen it.

Billy wondered, a brief flicker of pain, how much _he_ had changed. What Goodnight saw when he looked at him—if he even noticed it. He wondered if they would have looked different to each other if they’d grown together, changed together, instead of apart all these years.

He resolved that he would be there from now on, to know every line and gray lock. And he would let Goodnight know him too.

“Billy?” Goodnight was looking unsure, now, though Billy had no idea why. There would only ever be one answer to his question.

“Yes.”

Billy had been to Goodnight’s place a smattering of times over the past two weeks, but he had never stayed the night. The apartment was dark, now, and Goodnight didn’t stop to turn any lights on, instead pulling Billy solemnly to the bedroom. Billy let himself be pulled.

“You’re leaving me,” Goodnight said, closing the bedroom door behind him and loosening his tie.

“I’m not—”

“I hate this,” Goodnight was struggling with the tie, and Billy knocked his hands away, and pulled the knot loose. “You’re leaving me, and I deserve it.”

“Stop it,” Billy said, exasperation growing hot in his chest. He brought his hands to rest on Goodnight’s shoulders. “That’s not—”

“I knew,” Goodnight said, and Billy knew he was not listening to him. “When I first pulled that trigger, that there was no going back. That I could never deserve something like this. And now…”

Goodnight was sinking into Billy’s arms, a dead weight, and Billy maneuvered him firmly until they were both sitting on the bed.

“This is what I deserve. This is everything that I deserve.”

“You’re right,” Billy said. “You do deserve this.”

He ignored Goodnight’s panicked hiccups of breath, and continued, “You deserve to be loved. You deserve someone who would give anything for you, would give up their life for you, and do anything to protect you.”

Billy brought a hand to Goodnight’s cheek, and tugged gently on the graying whiskers. “I don’t know if I’m that person, but I know that you will always be worthy of love.”

Goodnight’s eyes were hollow, but the soft crest of a smile pulled at his lips. “You were always the one, Billy.”

“Besides,” panic throbbed in Billy’s gut, but he felt he had to stay it. “You say that any man who has ever done what you did is not deserving of love… so, you doom the men and women you work with as well?” He saw Goodnight’s open wound, but continued to poke. “You would doom me?”

“Never,” Goodnight cried, and Billy brought his arms around him and felt Goodnight press his forehead to the divot of his collarbone. His shirt grew wet with silent tears, but he ignored it. “But it’s harder for me.”

Billy stared at a spot on the wall and forced himself to stay calm, to not bring up his own dark memories, which would only hurt Goodnight more.

“How could you stand it?” Goodnight whispered, and Billy pulled himself back to this reality. “I can feel myself breaking apart at the seams. How do you stay together?”

Billy stroked his hair, and tried to think of a truthful response. He had known violence from a young age: the sting of a slap across his face, the older boys pushing him around. A friend lost in combat. The threat it might happen to him as well. Pushing back, and raging against it all, because he would not let that happen to him.

After it all, he had handled it, because it seemed like the only thing he could do. He knew Goodnight was handling it, too, and he was so strong for it.

Billy had come to accept that violence was a part of this world, even if he wanted it taken out.

And Goodnight would never accept that. _Could_ never accept that. And Billy didn’t want him too.

“I can’t teach you,” Billy said, and he felt Goodnight break a little. They both knew there would never be an easy solution to this. “And I don’t want you to become like me. I don’t want you to be numb, and angry.”

Goodnight shuffled in his arms. “You’re not like—”

“I am. It’s what I learned, even before I met you. It’s how I put myself together.”

Billy took a deep breath. “But it’s not what I want for you. You already have come so far, Goodnight—these people, they trust you, and you protect them. You _show_ them what it can be like. You already know what you have to do.”

Goodnight pushed up to meet his eyes. “It’s not about fixing,” Billy continued, and Goodnight rested a hand on his cheek. “It’s about healing.”

Goodnight’s lips were soft against his. Billy parted his lips, and felt Goodnight’s touch grow searching. He didn’t know the questions Goodnight had, or if he found the answer. He only hoped Goodnight would share it with him if he did.

* * *

When Billy blinked awake the next morning, he found Goodnight watching him. The soft morning sun streamed through Goodnight’s dingy Venetian blinds, but Goodnight’s eyes were dark.

“I’m sorry,” Goodnight said, when he noticed Billy watching him. “I always think I’m better, until I get worse.”

“Not worse,” Billy said, feeling his gruff voice scratch against his throat. “Just different.”

Goodnight grew quiet again, and Billy could see him thinking—always thinking, soulful eyes searching and searching.

They were not touching, but they were less than an inch apart. Billy wanted to press against him, to fit their bodies together—he knew all too well how perfectly they fit. But he would wait for Goodnight. He would always wait.

“Goody,” he started. “What are you thinking about?”

Goodnight startled, his eyes growing clear. “Hmm.”

Billy watched the careful, cautious smile grow across Goodnight’s face, not hidden by the grey-tinted whiskers, but nearly hidden. Billy knew what to watch for, though, even after all this time.

“I’m thinking about how good it feels to be held by you. Held together by you. I want to hold you, too.”

“Then hold me,” Billy says, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

Their touches had been tentative, and Billy was waiting for them to become feverish, like they had been that first night they slept together.

He was not expecting Goodnight to persist, quiet and slow, as he brought a careful arm to Billy’s chest and held him tight. Billy’s throat worked against a dry tickle, and he wondered if he should push Goodnight to deepen their embrace, or get up and make some coffee for their breakfast. He debated for so long that he almost fell back asleep in the warm sun filtering through the window, but then Goodnight slipped a hand under his shirt.

“Billy,” Goodnight says, his voice soft, so soft. “Is this okay?”

And, God, if Billy hadn’t wanted to feel this for _so long._ Goodnight’s touch featherlight against his ribs, hands warm and skin a little rough.

“Goody,” he said, a little abashed when it sounded like a moan to his ears. Goodnight’s face hovered near his, and Billy turned to meet his gaze. Goodnight looked a little tired, still, but no longer haggard. His expression was only a little unreadable, but Billy saw kindness in his eyes. He saw _Goodnight_.

“Billy,” Goodnight said, again, and in the next moment his lips were against Billy’s own. Billy let out a soft gasp and Goodnight opened above him, his mouth warm. Their teeth clicked, once, and then Billy swallowed his surprise and started to meet him in earnest.

Billy was expecting their slow morning to continue to progress slowly, and he was caught quite off guard when Goodnight's hand moved so far up that it brushed against a sensitive nipple. He jerked and found that the floundering movement gave Goodnight more leverage, discovering this at the same time Goodnight moved his other hand past the waistband of Billy's boxers to grasp his cock. 

"Fuck!" Billy said, his voice painted with shock and too loud in the quiet air of morning. He felt Goodnight's grin against his lips, and closed his eyes as he experienced pleasure on both fronts. He moved his own hand to pull Goodnight into his grasp, and then rested back as Goodnight brought them together with his own hand. 

"Goody," he moaned, realizing that this was different from usual for one particular reason— Goodnight was uncharacteristically silent, the only noise in the room his patient breath and Billy's rough pants. 

"Not me," Goody said. His hand slipped and Billy hissed as cool air kissed his cock, wet only with precome. Goodnight chuckled, so quiet Billy almost missed it. "Only you. I want to hear you."

His hand returned then, his cock aligned with Billy's, and they moved together. Goodnight kept quiet, and Billy would be unnerved if the man wasn't making him feel so good. He began to cry out, grateful that they were making up for lost time, and regretting _so much_ that they hadn't been doing this the entire length of his stay. 

"Goody," he cried once more, and his nails scraped at Goodnight's back. "Goody, gonna—"

"C'mon," Goodnight said, gruffly. "I've got you."

Billy blinked his eyes open to see Goodnight's loving face, bright and flushed with passion, and then he pinched them shut as he came, pulsing and hot. 

Goodnight followed him, and Billy met him for a kiss as Goodnight pressed a sticky hand to Billy's side. 

"Gross," he bit at Goodnight's lip, and the man chuckled. 

"Laundry day," Goodnight used as an excuse, placing his head on the pillow and pulling Billy into his arms. 

They lay contentedly together, until Billy remembered something.

“My plane leaves at eleven,” Billy groaned, unwilling to leave Goodnight’s side even though he knew it was only a matter of time before he returned to it. “And I still need to get my stuff.”

Goodnight stirred in his arms, and began to withdraw, and Billy could sense his unhappiness. He had no idea why Goodnight would be looking so forlorn, when he had told Goodnight he’d be staying—

“Oh, God!” He shouted, shooting bolt upright. Goodnight yelled in surprise and flailed, kicking so wildly that he flung himself off the bed.

“Fuck!” He wailed from the floor.

“Shit! Oh, Goody, I’m so sorry, but I—”

He leaned over the bed and looked at Goodnight, naked and unhappy in the soft morning sun, a look of such indignity on his face. He looked at Goodnight, and saw the man he’d been in love with for nearly fifteen years. He looked at Goodnight, and saw _home_.

He burst into laughter, the aching and wild kind that made his ribs hurt. He was startled when Goodnight’s warm hand found his cheek to brush away his tears. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying.

“Oh, Goodnight,” he said. Goodnight still looked concerned, but a grin was tugging at his red lips, and Billy knew it would be the kind of smile that reached his eyes.

“Billy,” he said in a wondrous tone, and Billy couldn’t imagine his name being said any other way. He pressed his lips to Goody’s, felt them open for him and only him, and wrapped himself tightly in Goodnight’s arms.

“I’ll be back,” Billy said, pulling away breathlessly, his lips fluttering against Goodnight’s. “I’ll be right back.”


	4. rose creek (present).

They sped down the road, their car propelling them tirelessly toward their destination, rippling in the heat waves in front of their eyes.

“Rose Creek?” There was a smile on Billy's lips. “It sounds like a fucking hippie commune.”

“So what if it is?” Goodnight bit back, but his hands were easy on the steering wheel and his smile softened the wrinkles of his cheeks. 

“Some commune it’ll be… no drinking, no drugs, no free love?”

“Oh, I think you’ll manage…”

“Oh, do you?” Billy plucked the cigarette from Goodnight’s lips and brought it to his own. It was a habit Goodnight had picked up after hitching himself to the wagon of sobriety, and they both knew that Billy liked the dusky tang of cigarette smoke more than he had ever liked the bitter burn of whiskey.

“A nice retirement,” Goodnight hummed. “It’s what we deserve.”

“Speak for yourself,” Billy squawked, but he puffed on the cigarette once more before returning it to Goodnight. “ _Retirement_.”

“You’re right,” Goodnight flexed his arm to put on a show. “Maybe the wrong word, with all the heavy lifting that still needs to get done…”

Billy followed the strong curve of Goodnight’s arm from his hand to his shoulder, his gaze appreciative. Goodnight’s eyes caught his and they shared a smile, teasing and content.

When their car finally rolled to a stop, they were both quick to get out, eager to see the place they’d only viewed from listings online. It was meant to serve as a new campus for their clinic, a new extension of their work which had expanded quite rapidly since they joined together in this venture those many years ago. Although they preferred their clinics to be located near their central one in Los Angeles, they had many on the East Coast, even one in Goodnight's home state of Louisiana. Billy had even gone back to Seoul a couple of months ago to discuss with some old friends their options for expanding into South Korea.

Now, the desert burned hot around them, but they had both long grown accustomed to it. It was a dry but welcoming heat, dancing the border between heady and stifling.

Goodnight took Billy’s hand in his as they walked past the old ranch’s tattered gate.

“So,” Goodnight started. “I know it seems like it’s seen better days…”

Billy squeezed Goodnight’s hand. “Who hasn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Goodnight’s gaze was not searching when his eyes met Billy’s. He looked like a man who had found everything he’d needed. “From where I'm standing, they're all pretty good."

Billy brought a hand to Goodnight’s cheek, and their lips found each other. They had stopped on the dirt path that led to the series of buildings, which would need patience and devoted attention to build them up to something better. But they had years of practice under their belt.

“It’s perfect, Goodnight Robicheaux,” Billy admitted, and he pulled Goodnight into an embrace that still felt new, even after all this time.

“Billy Rocks,” Goodnight’s lips pressed a gentle kiss to the crease of his neck. "So are you."

Billy's heart sped up, but he didn't flush; he was better now at masking his reactions to Goodnight's clever charms. He breathed deeply, the warm scent of _Goodnight_ , before he pushed them apart, not wanting them to be caught necking like teenagers. They still had a job to do. 

They missed each other the moment they were out of eyesight, touring the property separately to make the most of their time.

Separation was a dull wound in both of them, a wound that was still healing. It chased them whenever the other boarded a plane without the other, or even just went to the store; it was a quiet, cloying memory that had them checking their phones even when they were curled on the couch together; it was a habit they were still trying to unlearn. 

But new habits, new routines, found them in every other moment— Goodnight holding out the wooden spoon with an idle twist of his wrist for Billy to taste, sharing a cigarette on their porch as they watched traffic roll quietly past, falling into bed, together, at the end of a long day, a tangle of legs and arms and tired, loving kisses— and slowly but surely, those memories were winning out. 

At the end of his long walk around the perimeter of the ranch, Goodnight turned a corner and saw Billy, inspecting a cabin door which dangled off of its rusted hinges. They locked eyes, and it felt like coming home. 

Billy watched Goodnight jog breathlessly over, and they met with a sweet kiss, Goodnight playful and Billy's mouth open around a laugh. 

Wherever life took them, whichever path they took, they would continue to find their way back to the other. And as their kiss deepened, and their future unfurled around them, they knew that this would always be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for joining me on this journey as i yearn furiously for a happy ending like this. your comments are always so appreciated!!


End file.
